Why are There Coats of Arms for Nobles and Nothing for Us?

Punditry by Other Means

It all may have started with the idea of the long arm of the lawmaker employing minions to implement order to discipline groups into respecting leadership that could enforce strong ties to a narrative that served a ruling elite. Yes, the monologue that was, and the dialogue that wasn’t produced strange outcomes that special Tuesday in November. The existing status quo came a cropper when the instincts of a large section of the electorate were employed to buck the system. A campaign meant to deliver the subalterns and the ‘deplorables’ a fait accompli of sorts, was undone when the instincts of survival of the marginalised class came to trump the moneyed elites, causing their gravy train to derail. The ‘nothing-for-us’ class, along with the subaltern class, were meant to accept an elite diktat, whose raison d’etre concealed parasitism by stealth. But the people were onto it!

Was that special Tuesday in November a dream-like experience for anybody? If it was for some, it certainly wasn’t for the unemployed, the homeless and other victims of a system myopically focused on privatising prosperity while pillaging the prospects of the nothing-for-us-proles to have a fair share of anything.

The sub-conscious mind expresses the same function for all, in retaining an uncensored connection to nature and free will by virtue of the power of instinct. To dream is to think uncontrolled thoughts. The conscious mind cannot correct the flow of uninhibited or spontaneous activity in the unconscious regions. It can live with the fact that our feet of clay trod a base line that class differences fail to obscure. The purpose of the conscious mind in this context is to polish the survival instinct credentials of class in readiness for the insider-versus-outsider battle that relentlessly confronts them… a way of understanding reality from the perspective of the underdog. This special Tuesday was about addressing something that had become venal — something that was not about rewarding excellence, but greed.

All peoples have the innate ability to engage in bilateral negotiations simply because consciousness tends to lend its highest priority to self-interest. So what does it do to people when they have to carry the costs of supporting elites, overlords, nobles and summary jokers prancing about in their coats-of-arms? It keeps them unfree and harried by the weight of opportunistic hierarchies that forever deny their potential to go to where they might be new and where their senses could be fathomed and their free-man/woman thoughts parsed. Occasionally, in elections we get results that demonstrate that the nothing-for-us section of the population know how to vote when it means escaping the noose that elites and vested interest groups place around their necks. It is at this point that instinct speaks louder than propaganda.

They who act to consolidate their grip on power by sequestering ever greater disproportionate wealth through the myriad forms of privatisation and asset grabbing require ever greater surveillance of the nothing-for-us captives, whose lot seems limited to servitude and the suppression of their faculties as creative entities when subjected to market ideologies that traps them in the usury-rentier process. When a system acts to suffocate their desire to experience their true humanity, they will act impulsively.  Under such circumstances, the choice comes down to dissent, surrender or suicide…and therein lies the rub!…for alternatives are always too awful to contemplate when despair and depredation drag one away from dreaming the dream of hope.

Shakespeare was an Englishman with both a penchant for comedy and tragedy, testing our credulity whenever these two elements appeared side by side in any one story…our immediate reaction being one that questioned the legitimacy of the two being together. But a closer look at man’s inhumanity to man…or the exploitation of man by man…one can see much evidence of malice and farce speciously undermine our justice systems…and that can make you laugh or cry, or both at once…and even more so if you listen to the pundits who try to justify the charade.

In Hamlet’s soliloquy about suicide, death appears to be a negative form of dissent…a life snuffed out before that life had a chance to achieve its own fathoming! …And Therein Lies The Rub! Suicide, surrender, acceptance of one’s fate is an end without an ending, because clearly the antidote to dispossession is to fight for the possession of one’s own liberty, dissent being the first port of call.

To die, to sleep
To sleep perchance to dream:
Ay, there’s the rub.
For in that sleep of death
What dreams may come

Again and again, there’s always the rub — the mysterious reality of the voiceless and invisible nothing-for-us hoards who mean nothing to the ivy-league nobles in their coats of arms strutting their noblesse, indifferent to all but the sport of making money by the bucketful, because property rights are endemic to their class alongside the various manifestations of law enforcement that exist to protect their privileges and feed their assumptions of specialness.

But holy cow, come that special day in November there is heard a rumbling in the jungle by the ‘deplorable’ class and the sky doesn’t only rain on a parade touting a fait accompli, a shoo-in, a one-horse-race, an insider’s breeze-on-in, a neoconservative fart-fest, but the sky falls on the whole shebang, the whole box of dice, the whole shooting match, the whole enchilada of insiders who thought they had the whole business sewn-up and that that special Tuesday in November was about nothing less than retaining the status quo.

The rumbling in the jungle demonstrated resistance to censorship and the corrupt media that lied to them in no small order. The conscious revolt from below the radar against self-interest insisting on its right to ride the gravy-train for another four years was derailed by the nothing-for-us’ers. The undoing of the $billion voiceover-tsunami launched by the entrenched coterie in order to stay in power was blown away by the voiceless many. The more of the same blather was anathema to the deplorable people who had been refused a place…even standing room…on said hyperbolic locomotive.

Worst of all, the established media had come to believe in their own lies and misrepresentation of reality. While the President of Hope, Mr. Establishment Obama, sat back to admire the restoration work afforded the Gravy Train after the Wall Street fiasco…the newly fresh gold-plated work done on the coat-of-arms (at taxpayer’s expense) was one of his highest priorities. The Gravy Train…first-class carriages only if you please…was there to serve the Washington and Wall Street elites as they went about their business of fraud and extortion.  These special interest-groups, made rich through banking chicanery while separating themselves far-from-the-maddening-crowd of Detroit and elsewhere rust-belt, had broken through the Glass Steagall ceiling singing, “Happy Days Are Here Again, It’s Snouts-In-The-Trough Time Again”.

So the election results are in and nobody is the wiser. Will the interplay between the conscious and unconscious mind serve up new surprises after it took base instinct to remove a coterie of ivy-league charlatans, well versed in the business of foreign wars, as well as being well versed in the business of withholding the truth from the light of day, to be denied power. The truth is the banks had become too big to fail, the Pentagon too big to fail, the stock of nuclear missiles too big to fail, the stock-market too big to fail, the EMPIRE too big to fail, and worst of all now, an egocentric American narrative too big to fail.

Which takes us back to Donald Trump…he of the too-big-to-fail haircut…speaking of bilateralism while pushing his way onto centre stage. To many he is perceived as the instinctual beast from the jungle come to sort our problems with a persona too big for our bourgeois tastes…and therein lies another conundrum too big to fail. The so called instinctual beast from beyond the pale might really be the personification of bourgeois methods and values at odds with bourgeois tastes.

The gravy-train juggernaut he sends packing is not likely to be a loss lamented in the rust-belt. It might even be remembered as the passing of the gravy-train whose eyes got too big for its belly, thus causing its own derailment.

Denis Conroy is a retired businessman and journalist and a voracious follower of matters political outside of the mainstream arena. Read other articles by Denis A..